


Utterly Unsuitable

by purplekitte



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: BDSM, Dirty Talk, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2019-09-20 08:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17018955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplekitte/pseuds/purplekitte
Summary: Dorn/Sevatar set in some strange, cracky continuity where this becomes a habit with them





	1. Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following [this](http://adepta-astarte.tumblr.com/post/90707346001/abaddons-little-black-book-vol-3-1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorn/Sevatar, background Dorn/Sigismund and Curze/Sevatar mentions

Sevatar was shameless in bed. That wasn’t a big revelation, but people so often didn’t understand the implications. He wasn’t suppressing shame and embarrassment, he didn’t feel it, and didn’t really get why other people did.

He could conceptually understand why, for instance, whether or not sex was consensual would be a distinction people would find meaningful. He could understand, though he didn’t agree with, the various superstitions or philosophies across the galaxy that said you should only have sex for reproductive purposes and try not to enjoy it while you were at it. There was at least a logical soundness there.

What he didn’t get was all the weird and hypocritical rules people had about sex. You could enjoy it, but not too much. You could do these things, but not those. You could do it with these people, but not those others. So stupid.

So his answer to Dorn’s ‘Why do you think you’re here?’ was easy. Because he wanted to get off. Sure there were a lot of other people he could do it with that would be less aggravation, but being with a primarch counted for a lot. Anytime Dorn raised an eyebrow at him, he’d run after him for whatever he would give. He never lost that cold, composed blankness, but he could tease stone-faced so well even Sevatar often couldn’t tell when he was being serious or leading him on.

‘Because you want to do this, but not with anyone you like, my lord. I’ll do, because it’s not like I can be demeaned any more in your eyes.’

Dorn didn’t deny that. ‘I like to hope you’ll eventually learn something from the experience, but I’m not delusional.’

‘What lesson are you teaching today?’

‘That you can be honest.’

‘When it suits me.’

‘So?’

They both knew Sevatar would say anything to get what he wanted right that moment and his promises weren’t worth the ship’s air that had carried them a moment later.

‘Do you want me to beg you for it, sir?’

‘If it’s what you want.’

‘What I want is to be pounded into the bed... or floor or wall or wherever, I’m not picky.’

Dorn slammed him down into the bed so fast Sevatar’s back had hit the mattress before his brain acknowledged movement had happened. He didn’t delude himself either: whatever he played at, Dorn was always the one totally in control of their encounters. That worked for him. In this case, oh hell yes did it work for him.

‘Alright,’ Dorn said belatedly, already spreading Sev’s legs with his knees.

For a moment, Sevatar wondered if the primarch was going to fuck him dry and wondered what he thought of that, before it occurred to him that he could just ask and, from the sound of it, Dorn would spend as long preparing him as he wanted.

‘Slow down!’

Dorn didn’t, punctuating that with Sevatar’s shout as he pushed two fingers inside him. ‘Firstly, you don’t give me orders. Secondly, you don’t mean that. You only said it because you thought you should.’

‘Those are,’ he managed to get out between pants, ‘entirely valid points.’ Dorn ran a thumb down Sevatar’s cock firmly, which got him to buck and curse under him more. Dorn didn’t believe in rewards for good behaviour, so he doubted it was something he was being given for honesty so directly, but it couldn’t hurt. ‘I love every moment of your hands on me, whatever you do. I ache for you. I love getting my hands and mouth on you too. Your repressed stuffiness is hot, but someday I want to see you lose your cool if it kills me.’

Dorn pulled his fingers out of him, keeping Sev’s hips still as he bucked and whimpered. ‘Captain, shut up unless you have something important to add if you want me to tolerate you enough to give you what you asked for.’

Sevatar had never mastered the art of not pushing, no matter how suicidal it was.

‘Sigismund’s jealous, you know. He’d _love_ to do this for you, my lord, but you don’t want to think of him as a slut, unlike me.’

Pain bloomed across his cheek at Dorn’s slap. Maybe it had been loud, and maybe his ears were ringing. He swallowed a mouthful of blood and felt loose teeth move under his tongue. From a primarch, it was practically a pat. His skull was still in one piece.

Dorn didn’t like to hear him talk about Sigismund, that was a standing thing between them, but, for the record, Sevatar hadn’t been lying. Whether Dorn agreed, he really did believe that. As much as getting slapped around by Dorn turned him on, Curze was another level entirely, not to mention the sheer ease with which they understood each other and fit together. That wasn’t just a rare perversion confined only to him. He’d been with Sigismund before, so had other cousins across the Legions he knew, and he’d seen the way the Imperial Fists’ first captain looked at his primarch, the ways he acted when he was around. They should go cuddle in a field of daisies if they needed to, to get it out of their systems, if they wouldn’t admit to how hard he would bet Sigismund would get from Dorn flogging him over some silly transgression or another. He’d bet Dorn wanted to be pushed down too, but Sev wasn’t the guy for that job, so the question was academic.

‘You like to believe everyone’s like you so you don’t have to admit it’s just you in the wrong and you could change.’ Dorn’s words weren’t a growl, but chill and level in his ear. His strike too hadn’t been angry lashing out so much as a business-like cuff.

Dorn knew the one punishment Sevatar actually considered as such was refusal to touch him, when he left Sev hard and denied all friction. But however much he ached while it was happening, eventually Dorn would relent and let them come into contact again, or he’d toss Sevatar out of bed entirely and Sev would be free to take the matter into his own hand without a hint of shame or hesitation. Night Lords understood that anything that didn’t end in death was a polite suggestion.

‘I never denied my own sins.’ Those he acknowledged as sins and those vices he didn’t. He licked his lips, sultry, and rubbed himself against Dorn’s hand, spreading his legs wider.

He couldn’t have screamed as the primarch pushed inside him in one long stroke, but Dorn made that a moot point by trapping his mouth in a wet, demanding kiss. It took a few shallow, exploratory thrusts before he could draw in his next gasp of air, before he could manage to concentrate on one thing other than how full he was, unable to tell the difference between the pain and pleasure of being split open.

Sevatar loved to watch Dorn almost show facial expression despite his attempts to the contrary. It wasn’t lust twisting his features, but pure disgust.

Then Dorn started a hard and fast rhythm, driving into him again and again. It was everything he wanted, Dorn was right, even before he shifted his angle to make Sev shout each time he hit his prostate.

His hands were digging into the sheets too tightly for him to scrape together the concentration to unclench one and get it around his cock, but Dorn took him in hand himself. Maybe to get Sevatar to stop rubbing against his stomach so wantonly. He did have the weirdest ideas about there being something disgraceful when Sevatar humped his leg.

Sevatar didn’t care in the slightest of the reason, not when he was arching his back into the strong grip and the overwhelming power being used against him, however held back it was compared to what a primarch was capable of.

He came hard, every muscle in his body clenching and pleasure shooting through him. He thought he could see stars, or possibly those were black spots in his vision.

Dorn made to pull out, and Sevatar instinctively grabbed onto him, not that he could move the immovable wall and the suggestion would probably offend him. ‘You’re wiling to let me get off in your hand with your cock up my ass and your tongue in my mouth, but it would be too lustful for you to come inside me?’

‘I cannot emphasise enough how much I don’t actually like you, Sevatarion.’

‘I’m not trying to lead you into temptation. I’m offering freely pleasure like you saw fit to give me, my lord.’

And that was total honestly, even. He didn’t understand the whole fixation on temptation and the resisting thereof in the least. Dorn would probably be better off with more orgasms in his life, and Sev would enjoy it, let alone not begrudge it. Besides, they knew even in the underhives that when someone did you a good turn, you owed them one until you could repay it, and that unresolved obligation would worry at him like his loose teeth wouldn’t.

Dorn leaned back down over him and began to move again. Sevatar settled back into the mattress to enjoy it, his body tired but relaxed enough to take the more purposeful thrusts. Dorn didn’t looked away, because he would never pretend to be with someone else, even when it wasn’t anyone he really wanted. That was just the man he was.

His breath hardly hitched as he finished, but Sevatar could feel his cock twitch inside him and sighed in sympathetic contentment, come dripping down his legs as Dorn finally pulled away.

‘That wasn’t so difficult, was it?’ He meant for either of them, and Dorn chose to interpret it that way rather than getting dragged into Sevatar teasing at his expense.

‘I try to set achievable goals. I’ve never had high hopes for you applying yourself.’

‘For you I’d pretend to better myself,’ he said, because really, Dorn might believe honesty was necessary to be a good person, but it certainly wasn’t sufficient. No son of the sunless world hesitated to lie, but they weren’t inclined to hide behind self-righteousness that left them _unable_ to admit when they were doing evil with a smile on their face and a song in their hearts.

‘Get out, captain.’

He gave a salute so imprecise it made Dorn grind his teeth and grinned. This would happen again when Dorn decided, nothing he could do to speed that up. If anything, Dorn seemed to enjoy running into him and not inviting him to his rooms a couple times, just to prove a point, while Sev’s frustration built. That tease. Meanwhile, a downside to being with a primarch taking so much out of a guy was that he couldn’t immediately turn around and jump Sigismund, though he suspected the other first captain would be very, very guiltily turned on by how much he would want to rim Sevatar just then and it would be wonderful to see.

‘I wish you success in all your endeavours, however incomprehensible whatever it is you’re getting at, or at least hope you keep trying.’


	2. Marooned Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorn/Sevatar marooned-together sex-pollen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> background Curze/Sevatar and Sevatar/Sigismund

Sevatar admittedly could think of lots of things he’d ‘done to deserve this’, but had previously seen no sign the galaxy had any sense of justice, fairness, or even that much dramatic irony. ‘I’m going to write a book, a theological treatise, like one of Lord Lorgar’s, if you don’t talk to me. The Gospel of Sevatar. I’ll orate aloud as I compose it, and you’ll have to listen.’

The door did not respond. Neither did Primarch Dorn on the other side; Sevatar wasn’t _that_ crazy. Yet. He tossed up the combat blade in his right hand to almost scrape the ceiling and caught it smoothly, as he’d been doing for the past four hours, and considered actually carrying out his threat, or getting up off the deck and practicing with his chainglaive again, even though he’d done that the previous ten hours. Maybe in armour instead of out for the next round.

While he was still mentally reviewing Lorgar’s literary style, Dorn deigned to give him a status report. ‘I believe the xenos were undergoing a civil war of sorts. Their main faction would never have done what they did, destroying their own creatures, in order to get back at us. A deviant faction went against their usual behaviour patterns, though we should not have been so caught by surprise by xeno treachery. From what I can decipher of their scribblings, they were already in a state of panic and confusion over a disruption in their mating cycle causing them to produce pheromones constantly.’

He trailed off and Sevatar snorted. As if he couldn’t smell the pheromones everywhere, in every breath. They’d used the oxygen in their armour at first, while repairing the hull breaches enough to get this section of the station repressurised, but the recycling was meant to stand up to hours of use, maybe days, not weeks.

He’d jerked off twice in the time he’d been knife-throwing. It wasn’t even a change of pace anymore, just a routine thing to get over with periodically since he was always aching and his blood burning with arousal.

‘Is the warpstorm still raging?’

‘Yes,’ he confirmed, which practically counted as Dorn making conversation, even if Sev’s half of their territory had viewports and his didn’t. If the storms had died down, they’d have been rescued already.

The two hours he’d spent curled up on the floor with a terrible headache after his last look outside had been an interesting change of pace, but not one he was anxious to repeat. From the navigational conditions that had been present right before everything had gone wrong, he guessed it was vicious but highly localized around them. He hadn’t looked outside in two days, but he knew instinctively his answer was true, as well as with common sense. The way he knew going into hibernation was not an option, not unless he wanted to be trapped with whatever was lurking at the edges of his vision, the faint laughter Dorn couldn’t hear, something that thirsted. His catalepsean node was complaining too, because he hadn’t slept the whole time they’d been here and that was getting a bit much even for him.

At least there were plenty of void-frozen xeno corpses to keep him from going into involuntary hibernation as he starved, kept preserved outside the oxygenated and heated section of the station. Some Astartes ones too, from two Legions. He wondered if Dorn was doing the same, though primarch metabolisms were a step above Astartes ones.

Dorn seemed to think their daily briefing was over, because he didn’t say anything for awhile. ‘I’m _bored_ ,’ complained Sevatar. Dorn continued to ignore him. ‘I found a new corpse poking around in some rubble in airlock B2. I couldn’t ID him, one of yours and armour markings too scraped, but maybe you could. Blond hair, ear-length, can’t tell his eye colour because most of the face was missing...’

‘Captain, just because you have no affection for your brothers, not everyone wants to hear your irreverence. I know every man I had with me and I know they were killed.’

There had been Atramentar with him. Sevatar had been the first to react, moving half a second _before_ the first explosion, it became clear looking back. But he’d been furthest from the wall, and Iskim had used such time as he’d had to shove Sev behind a support strut in the xeno architecture that his glaive dug into, his own boots failing to mag-lock on the totally nonmagnetic deck.

It was possible there were still Astartes alive outside the station, who’d been blown clear, as well as the various ones he knew to have been killed by fire or concussive force or debris. But with that much raw Warp exposure, even if something could be recovered and called ‘alive’, he would put it down himself, as a service to his brothers.

If he had been able to do anything for any of the others, even at the cost of his own life, he would have. They were Atramentar.

He didn’t say that to Dorn. He didn’t usually care about being misunderstood or disbelieved or thought the worst of, but not about that. ‘They’re dead. The instant someone’s kicked the bucket, there’s nothing else that can be done and no sense worrying about it.’

He let the combat blade thunk into the ceiling and considered his chainglaive or one of the chainswords he’d recovered from among the bodies. He loved his glaive; people said he had no appreciation for poetry, but they didn’t understand how it felt when it cut through the air, the perfection of balance and movement, the control he had as it cut through flesh, as if he’d been using a scalpel instead of a chainsaw on a stick. A sword just wasn’t as good: too light, so little reach, lacking the pole that was a weapon in and of itself, even if he was inexplicably one of the best in the Legions with one, but it was a change of pace.

He studied the door Dorn had locked between them more than a week ago. It wasn’t an airlock, as well as not being soundproof. He could have hacked the entire thing apart eventually, not to mention going the long way around through the various sections of the station open to space. The lock was an old STC electronic model, meaning the xenos had had some contact with humans at some point before, though the station itself had not been designed by anything humans from its angles and arrangements.

It took him fifteen minutes to hotwire the lock. Not that he’d needed that long, but the grinding boredom had him in the habit of stretching out each task for as long as he could for the sake of something to do.

The door between them slid open with hardly any noise. ‘Didn’t I tell you not to do that?’

‘Technically you just closed a door in my face, my lord. Any orders it was to remain that way were implied.’

Dorn looked terrible. No physical injuries lingered this long, of course, but his eyes were blood-shot and dilated (from what he could read of weirdly pale non-Nostraman eyes) and he had a pointed lack of facial expression even more than usual. He was breathing faster than he should have been, and twitched subtly. He smelled wrong somehow, under the thick musk of pheromones in the air, not that Sevatar was normally inclined to sniffing people like a Space Wolf.

He didn’t follow the train of logic his subconscious went through to reach a conclusion, just heard himself, incredulous, asking, ‘Have you not touched yourself the whole time we’ve been here?’

Sevatar found himself vaguely appalled, which was a strange sensation. Okay, he’d done much worse to people, until their blood was everywhere, and found their reactions nothing but amusing, but to do that to _yourself_ was a sort of masochism totally outside his experience or comprehension.

‘My hearing might be better than yours, but the soundproofing is hardly so good.’

He really hadn’t been paying attention to the lack, and if he would have just assumed Dorn was quiet and business-like about getting himself off. A primarch probably wouldn’t be as strongly and constantly affected as he was anyway, he’d have figured, though he’d known he wasn’t entirely unaffected from their initial confusion when they were still doing repairs and looking for other survivors. Knew he wasn’t unaffected from how hard he was beneath the thin bodyglove he’d had under his armour.

Then he realised just how much information he’d been given there, what had to be on Dorn’s mind for him to have said something like that. ‘You’ve been listening to me. Getting more turned on and wound up the entire time. You have to have been thinking about it. But you still won’t _touch me_.’

Dorn swallowed noticeably before answering. ‘I considered stopping you, but then you’d do absolutely nothing but whine instead of there being breaks in it.’

‘Congratulations, you’ve won the stoic lump award. Your reward is self-righteous satisfaction, deep frustration, and absolutely nothing else.’

‘Not everything is about self-gratification and personal gain, as you could do well to learn.’

‘If “what do you hope to gain from this” is the wrong question, how about: why? I can think of reasons’ (if mostly stupid one, in his view of sexuality) ‘for not touching me, but why would you let yourself get like this?’

‘Do you really think a xeno sex pollen-fuelled orgy is a good idea?’

Sevatar wasn’t stupid. He had some sense of it, a deep hunger beyond the one in his body. Hell, he quite possibly had a better inkling than Dorn, however much he tried to suppress those senses and locked them deeply away. ‘No, of course it isn’t. I’d rather get it out of my system than sit around brooding and fantasising over it, though.’

‘You’ve never _tried_ to control your desires.’

‘No, I haven’t. Why should I, my lord?’ He liked sex. He didn’t consider it his vice or an obsession. He wasn’t speaking theoretically anymore; the more he looked at Dorn, really looked at him, the more the believed he was correct. The desire was getting more and more boring and mechanical to him and it almost disinterested in him, to personify it, while the noose only tightened around Dorn, feeding off the burning inside him. ‘You’re going to kill us both.’

‘Don’t be melodramatic, Sevatar.’

‘Of all people in the entire Legionnes Astartes, it had to be you.’ Even the most disagreeable Death Guard or Iron Warrior he could have at least fucked by now. Anyone who wasn’t a primarch he could have dragged into a hot and heavy sparring match if they were being stubborn, for that matter. Could have pinned most people, other than Sigismund. Sigismund would still have been a vast improvement over his primarch, because _he_ would have been fine with fighting and fucking this whole time.

‘The feeling is mutual.’

‘Accept at least that I have a certain amount of enlightened self-interest. I enjoy being alive and would like to remain this way. There are things I would do because they are enjoyable or because I could, but I would not put my life in danger unless I believed it already was.’

Sevatar hoped for a slight instant of distraction while Dorn processed that as he tackled him. Dorn was faster, but with a burst of time-slowing-down his hand at least made contact with his chest. Dorn groaned and broke his arm, and Sevatar couldn’t tell if that had been purposeful or accidental because he couldn’t concentrate on a single thing at that moment beyond the shooting pain in his head and the fact his eyes were now bleeding in their sockets.

‘How serious are you being?’ Dorn sounded a bit concerned, if for the situation than him personally.

‘I know my reputation’s different than yours, but at least I’m not so caught up in patting myself on the back over my own self-denial to be blind to the spiral I’m falling down.’ He wouldn’t normally snap so viciously at a primarch not his own, for all that this disrespectful sarcastic drawl had always been his normal means of communication, but Dorn responded best to directness. This close Sevatar couldn’t close off whatever was happening inside Dorn’s head, the urges and anger and need to lash out he was suppressing and Sev wasn’t in the habit of. ‘I’m hardly an expert in the subject, but I can tell that much.’

‘Don’t make this worse.’ For all that it was meant to be a threat, it didn’t quite have that effect. He’d rather have Dorn kill him cleanly than the lurking thing that wanted to sink its teeth into him, and not just his body, layer by layer, and would be able to if things did get worse. It was also an instruction, to follow his best judgement and he’d better be right.

Shifting his weight onto his knees, he moved down Dorn’s body quickly, before he could find some stupid reason to second-guess himself, with minimal use of his bad arm. His other hand went on Dorn’s cock and he leaned down to mouth his through his clothes.

Dorn didn’t last ten seconds, now that he’d given himself permission, but didn’t get any less hard. He blinked a few times in what seemed like surprise as much as relief, while Sev straightened the bones of his arm enough he wouldn’t have to rebreak it because it healed crooked.

‘Worse?’ To Dorn’s reply of silence, he responded back, ‘I told you so.’

‘I’d rather not do this, especially with you, but I will admit it would not serve mankind for either of us to die over it. It would be needlessly wasteful.’

‘It’s just sex,’ he agreed. He was pretty sure he agreed? He was somewhat unclear what was going through Dorn’s head for this conversation to even be taking place.

Regardless, he got to the more important job of stripping him and himself, and the primarch allowed this. Damn but Sevatar could feel his own arousal too, thrilled at the idea of someone else touching him instead of just pretending. Dorn wasn’t terribly helpful in this regard, but he could find on his own a position for maximum skin-on-skin contact, leaning on his stomach, humping his leg, finally taking his cock as far into his mouth as he could.

Dorn’s breath skipped a beat at that and he’d take it. He didn’t need something as unlikely as Dorn screaming for him. Even without catching his reactions, Sevatar had the feel of him in his throat, the smell of him, the taste of the come still clinging to him from his first messy orgasm. His broken arm wasn’t up for taking weight or fine manual dexterity at the moment, but with the combat hormones in his system he could use it perfectly fine to stroke what he couldn’t fit in his mouth, brush against his balls. Dorn made a definite choking sound as he traced the veins in time with his heartsbeat and throbbed in his mouth.

Rubbing against him was overwhelming enough. His skin softer than it should have been, because weathering just didn’t take. Muscles solid as steel but not so immovable as to hinder flexibility. No Astartes came close to what a primarch felt like and his own hand had definitely not been enough.

They both drew it out this time, letting the pleasure build without the overdue need for climax. Dorn sighed as he came, a shudder going through him that seemed to unwind him a degree. Sevatar hummed as best he could around him, stretching contentedly in the aftershocks of his own orgasm before pulling away.

‘You’ve done that with Curze,’ Dorn said, too rhetorical to be an accusation.

‘No, I learned how to give a primarch a blowjob from Perturabo. You should thank him next time you see him, my lord.’ He rolled his eyes at Dorn’s glare of _I do not appreciate sarcasm._

He felt good. Better than he had in quite a while. There was still a steady thrum of need in his groin, but it was almost soothing, and he could rest for a minute before enticing Dorn to fuck him, or seeing how much the Imperial Fist would be willing to reciprocate.

Resting made his vision swim, but with jostles to his arm and a few bites to his swollen lips he could push that back fine.

‘Is there a reason you’re overstressing your catalepsean node?’

‘No,’ he lied, though he doubted he could have articulated the reasons if called on it.

‘You haven’t slept the whole time we’ve been here.’ Dorn said it as a statement of fact, which with his hearing and mental processing power was totally reasonable.

‘I didn’t say I wasn’t doing it,’ he muttered, sounding childish. ‘At least I’m avoiding danger rather than inviting it.’

Dorn raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask for details. Sevatar hated how much he’d given away, and if it hadn’t been to a primarch, he would have been emotionlessly plotting his death. There were only a handful of people he wouldn’t begrudge allowing to living having that information, his Atramentar brothers and a few childhood acquaintances among his Legion mostly, and his primarch of course, but in this case it wasn’t his choice one way or another. Therefore there was no sense brooding over it, or even asking any of the usual questions like could he get away with it or was whoever still too useful to him alive or whatnot.

‘Come here.’

‘Huh?’ he asked eloquently. He didn’t know what Dorn had in mind that involved willingly laying hands on him.

Rather than repeat his orders, Dorn pulled Sevatar into his lap himself. His kiss made his eyes close and toes curl, even if he barely used his tongue, let alone teeth. Damn all primarchs and what their existing did to an Astartes, and from what he gathered he was relatively minimally affected.

Dorn leaned his head onto his shoulder, tucked under his chin, and ran a hand through his hair, the other stroking up and down his back. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this for you.’

He chuckled at the sheer absurdity of it. ‘Me too. Don’t decide you’re my father now if it means you won’t fuck me after.’

‘I am intensely glad you’re no son of mine and have no intention of speculating about why that’s never stopped your own gene-sire.’

But still he held him close and continued the soothing touches across his body. Sevatar had to admit it felt strangely nice, ‘had to admit’ because of the half-growl half-purr sound he couldn’t seem to stop his throat from making. His body wasn’t quite ready to go again, but the warm, continued ache in him was sufficiently assuage by the press of Dorn’s already-somewhat-returned erection rubbing against his ass.

‘Go to sleep,’ Dorn told him, an order but with an unfamiliar patience and gentleness to it, like his touches. Each blink was heavier than the last until there was only the scent of Dorn’s skin in the blackness, and then not even that.

*

When they eventually were rescued nearly a month after they’d been stranded, Dorn gave a clipped, concise report about exactly where to find every body they’d found to bring back to the Legion Apothecaries, as well as insisting everyone stay on their own armour’s air and they’d all need to go through decontamination before being allowed out of quarantine. No indication why this might be, or that he and Sevatar had only just thrown their own armour back on as they felt the vibration of a ship docking, rushing before anyone disembarking found them.

The servo-motors of the power-armour helped, but Sevatar would still rather have limped than walked after the previous week, if not for the annoyances of intimidation and status. Dorn didn’t have that problem, damn primarchs, but at least Sevatar could think back with a certain amount of schadenfreude on the sounds he’d been making just moments before they’d been interrupted and Dorn decided to be responsible instead of taking the last few seconds it would have cost him to finish.

‘What were you doing all this time if the xenos were already dead?’ one of his brothers asked him.

Sevatar thought back on intense boredom, among other things, and smiled. ‘Absolutely nothing.’


	3. Respect Yourself, WIP

‘I don’t think of you as a whore, you know. That’s how _you_ think of _yourself_ , and that’s a problem.’

‘Fascinating.’ Sevatar stretched languidly. ‘Are you going to tell me you’re fucking me because you like me next?’

‘I do not. Prostitutes, from what I understand, are sought to be anonymous, to be totally different from a relationship with a lover, to be able to do thing they wouldn’t do with someone “normal” or worthy of respect, who is a real person.’

‘You respect me now?’ Sevatar raised an eyebrow at Dorn.

‘For all your faults, they are not all that you are, and I do acknowledge you as a warrior of the Legionnes Astartes. My point is, while you might think me willing to degrade you, do you really believe I would him?’

Sevatar didn’t have a good argument to that, because any idiot could see that Dorn and Sigismund adored each other. He spared Sigismund a glimpse: propped up against Dorn’s pillows, gorgeous as ever, obviously jealous.

‘I know sex doesn’t have to be degrading. Never took you for the harmless fun type, though.’

Now, Sevatar had turned tricks as a kid on occasion because it was just what you did, to survive. As an adult he still approached sex as something not necessarily related to emotions in any way, but it was a different matter. You didn’t enjoy whoring, while if he was something of a slut now it was because he did like the sex he had. He wasn’t necessarily nice to the people he fucked, especially if they were weak or he was proving a point, and few people were stronger than he was or had power over him.

(Curze was his own matter: he wasn’t prone to introspection or figuring out what emotions meant. He just knew Curze existing made him do things he knew before, during, and after were totally insane, and never regretting it.)

‘Should I be “respecting myself” more?’


End file.
